Wanted For Pleasure: vol 3

|4| A me problem

𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣
⊱ ─────────── ⊰

I hide under the covers from Chris. It's been a long night and I'm sure he's tired of me. Our date was fun, but that's just it.

We can't keep doing this but how do we stop? After all of this, it will be doing our own hearts an injustice.

The thing is, I like Chris more than I can admit. More than he probably suspects.

I can't keep playing this off like he doesn't set my soul on fire, but how do I tell him that? How do I tell him that it's him I want in the midst of all of this craziness - living with his uncle?

"Morgan..." Chris's voice fries.

I hear his footsteps shuffle inside of my lavender-painted bedroom but I ignore them.

"I had a good night. Thank you, bye." I shout from under the covers.

I hear him laugh a little. "That's it?" He asks with some expectation in his tone.

"Well, what did you expect?" I have to shout.

"Not you to be hiding from me. Can you come from under there at least?"

"No. Go away!"

"Malcolm isn't even here."

"Doesn't matter. Good night." My tone comes off harsh and that makes me feel bad, but I have to send him running.

"Alright," he says. "I had a good night with you, too." Chris's words are followed by his footsteps.

The door closes but I wait another three seconds.

A sigh of relief falls out of my mouth.

I emerge from the blankets, but am suddenly attacked.

It's Chris.

He tackles me in his arms and rolls on top of my body on the mattress.

"You really fell for that?" He taunts me, biting my nose.

I squeak under his weight and try squirming away but it's no use. He's too strong, and too cute. I can't resist.

I'm pouting, I know. I can't help it.

"Part of me wanted you to stay." I admit lowly, pushing the lone curl away from Chris's forehead.

"Why couldn't you just say that, crazy?"

My eyelashes flutter as I think of the words to say. "Because then it would make it real."

"What, this?" Chris assumes correctly. "Oh, this is very real." His deep voice makes my spine tingle.

There's a long moment of silence that proceeds but it's a comfortable one. Before, silence was never so easy with someone like Chris. If we were together and not talking it's because one of us was being petty or mad at each other. If I felt the cold shoulder from him, I'd be in my head about it, probably overthinking and overreacting - just waiting for him to break the ice first. I usually did.

A couple of minutes go by, more or less but I wouldn't know because I got lost in the wonders that are Chris's eyes.

I do notice, though, the delicate way he's locked our fingers over my head.

I get a good mental close-up picture of Chris's face like this. The way such a rugged man can be so beautiful and without flaws has me speechless.